This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we gazed at stars, gazing at us, stargazing; we softened the room (warm with chocolate), but not the blow; we ripened to within a stem-drop of rotten; we boiled a brew distilled from the stew; we saw stone souls with no stars watching; we made monument from memory; we pulled a tune out of the line of fire. Insomniacs all, we’ll sleep when we’re dead. ~ MH Clay

The place of the nameless
through the gates
into the memory
of the space
a man with dreams
about the past
the fear of the people
of the unknown
the dreams of his work.
the bloody dreams of a place
without names,
looks back to the memories
of the architects of the past
in the eyes of a man
who is no longer there
the bridge that only exists
in his dreams
the river of books
eleven soldiers hold the stones
on their backs,
the writer of the creature,
their birth, eternal life,
the guard of the ages,
the heart of the creator
in the eye of the bridge.

I require new words
Black gem and Sapphire
To decipher the alien password
To open the mystery door of the soul base
Those people who ride the flying saucer
The blue blood runs in their body
On their planet
Every stone has a soul
Even the flowers and trees
like their brothers and sisters
Yet, they have no human emotions
The same as if the stars smile and shine at each other

If I could pour forgiveness into a cup
and drink it,
would it coat my bad intentions
like a tonic,
switch off
the red alert sign
pulsing behind my eyes?
I’ve given up booze
and casual sex
but there’s no substitute
that dulls the anger
quite as effectively.
I need a tonic to fill me
with the pull of the tides,
with the satin slip
of resurrection waters,
to absorb my howls
into its magic potion
and pour out starlight.

November 29, 2017

editors note: If we could find this elixir, it would be assigned to Schedules 1 thru 3 by those who prefer order over ecstasy. – mh clay

post-b.a. blues by Marisa Adame

would that i were a fruiting body,

rather than a rotting one.
i have no way of knowing
if the fruit fly’s affinity for my wrists
marks me as living
with honeyed sweetness in my skin,
or if it attempts to make a friend of me
before my afterlife.

I grow weak with comforts in this life
A heater means I no longer need my laptop on to stay warm in the winter months
And too many chocolate treats mean my waistline expands
So now I’ve got to cut it all out
Get back some vigour by doing something visceral
More real than sitting at home stuffing chocolate into my big fat mouth
I grow sick because of this life of comfort
And sadly all it means is I get softer and softer

November 27, 2017

editors note: Reason to be thankful? Loaded with the tankful, nowhere to go. – mh clay

I once was, we once were, ordinary people, like you. Being together we have become one mind.

I am sorry if our writing is clumsy. We don’t speak, write or use words any longer. Our thoughts are felt by each other before we have them. The ideas of I and we aren’t as clear as they may be for you, our ancestors. We are all we, we are all I. I am writing it to you as if we were I so that my message can be understood. We have been sending our message to you in the form of rain, wind and dreams. We understand that you can’t hear us. So we write this letter of love to you. We hope you will read it.

The Earth’s climate spiraled into instability. The polar ice caps melted to unrecoverable levels, making the oceans pour onto the coasts, crushing cities, engulfing countless lives. There were hurricanes and storms. The skies had become hell-fire.

When we left the Earth, our crew was young. We were sent in the wild hope of finding another hospitable world.

I volunteered. What was left for me? Our precious world was on the verge of collapse. I never felt that I belonged anyway. I vaguely recall the person who I was, a young scientist and a restless seeker. I was a loner, awkward, incapable of having relationships. I was more content in the computer lab, then in the company of people. I had hoped to escape the Earth, to go as far away from humanity as possible. I didn’t realize I’d be heading smack into the center of humanity itself…

Join Mad Swirl & Swirve this 1st Wednesday of December (aka 12.06.17) at 8:00 SHARP as we continue to swirl up our mic madness at our mad mic-ness home, Dallas’ City Tavern!

Come on out, one & all… share in the Mad Swirl’n festivities, & if the spirit is movin’ ya get yourself a spot on our list. Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl. Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to swirl-a-brate!

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The whole Mad Swirl of everything to come keeps on keepin’ on… now… now… NOW! Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, every year, every decade, every every EVERY there is! Wanna join in the mad conversations going on in Mad Swirl’s World? Then stop by whenever the mood strikes! We’ll be here…